Approaching and reading poetry is challenging, at times. It doesn’t always resonate; it hasn’t always resonated; but compelled to expose myself regularly to poetry. Sometimes, only expose myself in small doses. It’s been said that the difference between cure and poison is the dose. Don’t judge myself if poetry resonates, or not; if I “like” it, or not. Sustain the belief – possibly false – that poetry may “grow” on a person with time.
When I lived in Houston Texas, visited the Museum of Fine Arts (MFAH) every month; Bank of America customers were allowed to visit for free, the first weekend of each month. Gained an appreciation for art, in “doses” that I could tolerate, without becoming fatigued. In a similar manner, have been exposed to poetry over time. The poems shared with you below, dear reader, are some of the poems that have resonated with me; poems that I come back to, time after time.
Have also come to appreciate and enjoy spoken word poetry. Taz Alam has several YouTube videos of her poetry; her message tends to resonate with me. Spoken word poetry also seems to have become more mainstream; Jimmy Fallon had Rudy Francisco as a guest on the Tonight Show, reciting his poems, “Complainers” (2018) and “Rifle” (2019).
So maybe some of these poems resonate with you; maybe they don’t; that’s okay.
Introduced to this poem at Zen Center San Diego in 2012. Charlotte Joko Beck, despite being an ordained Zen priest, removed all references to Buddha, making the practice secular. This poem was often recited at the center, as part of the morning liturgy. Understand that Réa wrote this poem following the death of her brother, who lived in Japan as a Buddhist monk. Réa, is a long-time activist, prolific artist, author, and practitioner of earth-based spirituality; at an early age, she was given the choice between writing a poem or washing the dishes. Recited this poem, from memory, at the end of my first dharma talk at Houston Zen Center in October 2017.
Rashani Réa | The Unbroken
There is a brokenness
out of which comes the unbroken,
a shatteredness
out of which blooms the unshatterable.
There is a sorrow
beyond all grief which leads to joy
and a fragility
out of whose depths emerges strength.
There is a hollow space
too vast for words
through which we pass with each loss,
out of whose darkness
we are sanctioned into being.
There is a cry deeper than all sound
whose serrated edges cut the heart
as we break open to the place inside
which is unbreakable and whole,
while learning to sing.
Introduced to this poem at Zen Center San Diego in 2012; again, it was part of the morning liturgy. Nye was born to a Pakistani father and American mother, and resides in San Antonio Texas. She explains that she was simply the “secretary” for this poem, how she and her husband were robbed on their honeymoon, traveling on a bus in Columbia South America; and indeed, a person was killed. When I moved to Houston Texas in 2014, the first book that I checked out from Houston Public Library, was a collection of poems by Nye.
Naomi Shihab Nye | Kindness
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.
Mary Oliver is a celebrated poet, her works are well known, including this one. Recall listening to Zen priest, Edward Espe Brown, who would often recite the last two lines during his dharma talks, a reminder to each of us, not to waste our lives, “what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life.”
Mary Oliver | The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth
instead of up and down, who is gazing around
with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms
and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed,
how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
In June 2018, spent one week at Green Gulch Farm Zen Center in Muir Beach California. Following morning meditation, on the day of summer solstice, the assembly of monks held a ceremony for the arrival of summer. After the formal part of the ceremony, monks were invited to share any wish or sentiment, and one of the monks recited, and shared this poem with the sangha; I find the poem sweet and entertaining, and share it below.
Alixa Garcia & Naima Penniman | Being Human
I wonder if the sun debates dawn
some mornings
not wanting to rise
out of bed
from under the down-feather horizon
if the sky grows tired
of being everywhere at once
adapting to the mood
swings of the weather
if clouds drift off
trying to hold themselves together
make deals with gravity
to loiter a little longer
I wonder if rain is scared
of falling
if it has trouble
letting go
if snow flakes get sick
of being perfect all the time
each one
trying to be one-of-a-kind
I wonder if stars wish
upon themselves before they die
if they need to teach their young
how to shine
I wonder if shadows long
to just-for-once feel the sun
if they get lost in the shuffle
not knowing where they’re from
I wonder if sunrise
and sunset
respect each other
even though they’ve never met
if volcanoes get stressed
if storms have regrets
if compost believes in life
after death
I wonder if breath ever thinks of suicide
if the wind just wants to sit
still sometimes
and watch the world pass by
if smoke was born
knowing how to rise
if rainbows get shy back stage
not sure if their colors match right
I wonder if lightning sets an alarm clock
to know when to crack
if rivers ever stop
and think of turning back
if streams meet the wrong sea
and their whole lives run off-track
I wonder if the snow
wants to be black
if the soil thinks she’s too dark
if butterflies want to cover up their marks
if rocks are self-conscious of their weight
if mountains are insecure of their strength
I wonder if waves get discouraged
crawling up the sand
only to be pulled back again
to where they began
if land feels stepped upon
if sand feels insignificant
if trees need to question their lovers
to know where they stand
if branches waver at the crossroads
unsure of which way to grow
if the leaves understand they’re replaceable
and still dance when the wind blows
I wonder
where the moon goes
when she is in hiding
I want to find her there
and watch the ocean
spin from a distance
listen to her
stir in her sleep
effort give way to existence
It’s likely difficult, if not impossible, to pass through San Francisco Zen Center without being exposed to poet Jane Hirshfield. She lived as a monastic for several years at Tassajara Zen Mountain Center during her formative years; Tassajara is located east of Big Sur, in California’s Ventana wilderness, without electricity or other luxuries. Hirschfield appears in David Grubin’s 2010 PBS documentary film, The Buddha, narrated by Richard Gere.
Jane Hirschfield | A Cedary Fragrance
Even now,
decades after,
I wash my face with cold water –
Not for discipline,
nor memory,
nor the icy, awakening slap,
but to practice
choosing
to make the unwanted wanted.
Introduced to this poem, listening to a podcast dharma talk by Paul Haller, Zen priest at San Francisco Zen Center. Paul often shares poetry during his talks; listened to this talk on the five-hour bus trip from Puebla to Oaxaca. The poem resonated, perhaps, because I struggle to find lightness or happiness in my existence. Milosz was a Czechoslovakian poet, who resided in Berkeley California.
Czeslaw Milosz | Gift
A day so happy.
Fog lifted early. I worked in the garden.
Hummingbirds were stopping over the honeysuckle flowers.
There was no thing on earth I wanted to possess.
I knew no one worth my envying him.
Whatever evil I had suffered, I forgot.
To think that once I was the same man did not embarrass me.
In my body I felt no pain.
When straightening up, I saw blue sea and sails.
It’s difficult to not describe Bukowski as anything but “gritty.” I read some of his works while living in Houston Texas, checked out from Houston Public Library. He wasn’t a conformist, and largely immune from society’s norms. Exposed to this poem in January, from his poetry collection, The Pleasures of the Damned, and it resonates, largely, because of an innate urge to re-invest myself in the second-half of life.
Charles Bukowski | No Leaders Please
Invent yourself and then reinvent yourself,
don’t swim in the same slough.
invent yourself and then reinvent yourself and
stay out of the clutches of mediocrity.
invent yourself and then reinvent yourself,
change your tone and shape so often that they can never categorize you.
reinvigorate yourself and
accept what is
but only on the terms that you have invented
and reinvented.
be self-taught.
and reinvent your life because you must;
it is your life and
its history
and the present
belong only to
you.
garthmonroe 